


goodbye, old friend (and almost lover)

by despenteswhore



Category: Portrait de la jeune fille en feu | Portrait of a Lady on Fire (2019)
Genre: Character Death, Childhood Friends, F/F, F/M, Implied/Referenced Suicide
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 17:42:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29299842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/despenteswhore/pseuds/despenteswhore
Summary: marianne and héloïse have known each other since they were young children. through the complications of their lives, their relationship has changed over and over again.
Relationships: Héloïse & Marianne (Portrait of a Lady on Fire), Héloïse/Marianne (Portrait of a Lady on Fire)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 29





	goodbye, old friend (and almost lover)

**Author's Note:**

> so this has been in my drafts since october, i didn't really have it in me to do a total edit before posting this, and i honestly don't know if i'll ever finish it. but... oh well. enjoy it maybe. or don't. i'll understand either way.

Marianne watched as Héloïse swirled her spoon through the bowl of oatmeal in front of her and how she never brought it up to her lips. She was certain the food was cold by that point and that once Héloïse actually began to eat, it would taste horrible. She continued to watch her, though, and hoped that Héloïse would look up. She wanted to reach her hand across the table, grab her hand, but she knew she shouldn’t.

She always found herself holding back with Héloïse. Always a little too scared to push the boundaries of their friendship, never knowing exactly what Héloïse is thinking. 

She pushed forward a bowl of berries, instead, as an offering. Finally drawing Héloïse’s attention, the blonde looked from the bowl and up to Marianne’s face and she forced a small smile across her lips. 

It was tense and clearly anxious, but it was better than nothing. At least that’s what Marianne told herself.

Héloïse picked a single raspberry from the bowl and rolled it in her fingers for a second before dropping it into her bowl of oatmeal. Then she pushed the fruit back to Marianne who sighed.

“You should eat. You have a long drive.” Marianne regretted the words as they left her lips. She watched Héloïse freeze again and her gaze move downwards and back to her bowl. She nodded, but didn’t eat.

Marianne didn’t have a way with words. She always found herself saying the wrong things, telling Héloïse something she shouldn’t have or simply phrasing things horrifically. And she knew Héloïse’s frustration at that and the way it manifested. 

How her shoulders would fold forward, her eyes cast downwards, and her breaths became sharp. She would constantly fix her hair. She’d go quiet, barely responding to what Marianne would say in anything other than nods. 

And Marianne would ask if she did something wrong, if she upset Héloïse, even though it was obvious that she did. But Héloïse always said no.

The same exact thing happened the night earlier.

Héloïse had asked Marianne to stay over at her home the night before she left for university. It was a final goodbye, in a way.

* * *

They had been friends since they could remember. Héloïse had moved in next door to Marianne when Marianne was six years old and Héloïse was a stubborn little five year old.

Marianne liked to pretend that she remembered that day, liked to think that it was so impactful and changed the entire course of her life, but it had faded from her mind many years ago. She couldn’t remember the exact instance that Héloïse’s fiery and stubborn little being entered the gentle ocean of her own life, but she knew that it was important. 

They weren’t friends at first. 

Héloïse played alone. She liked to sit on her driveway and colour with chalk pencils in complete silence. She would draw images of dragons defending castles and princesses locked within. It was like clock work. Every single day, Héloïse would come outside at the same time and she would plop down onto the end of the driveway with her bucket of chalks and draw. They were never spectacular drawings, she wasn’t an artist, but she was dedicated. And every day, at the same time, she would be scooped up by her father coming home from work and bringing her in for dinner.

Esmée was eight when they moved next door. Esmée, unlike Héloïse, was quick to join the other children in the neighbourhood in playing. She clearly didn’t like the games they played, but she joined nonetheless. She preferred when they would dance or play pretend. She especially loved when they would play “house” and was always roping Marianne into playing the husband while she played the wife. She would have the other kids play as the children and most days she would call to Héloïse and tell her that she could be the family dog. Héloïse would look up from her chalk drawings, her eyes would flicker with sadness for just a moment, and then she would bark. Esmée would laugh, Héloïse would return to her drawings, and Marianne would always feel bad.

Marianne never got to play with Héloïse. The only times that she would be able to were when Esmée was sick and wasn’t coming out to play. On those days when it was just Héloïse on the driveway and no older sister in sight, Marianne would collect her own couple of handfuls of chalk, carrying them all in crowded arms, and slowly walk over to Héloïse’s driveway. She knew that if she dropped one piece she would never be able to pick it up. Héloïse would watch her, as if she was hesitant as to what was happening. But when Marianne would arrive at her driveway, Héloïse always shifted over a tiny bit, so that Marianne had more space to draw.

They would sit in silence, for the most part. Héloïse almost never responded to things verbally, she tended to assume that shaking her head or nodding (or barking) would suffice. But it was never uncomfortable, besides the first instance. Marianne found herself enjoying her time with Héloïse more and more and as time went by, she started to draw with Héloïse more than she played pretend with Esmée.

Not long after Héloïse turned six, she didn’t come outside one afternoon.

“Where’s Héloïse?” Marianne asked Esmée when the older blonde girl came running out of the house.

“Maman won’t let her outside today. She cut her hair last night, maman was so mad when she saw.” There was amusement in Esmée’s voice, but it was overprojected to cover the hint of fear that floated along. 

Marianne knew that Mrs. Brodeur was scary. Every child in the neighbourhood did. They were much more willing to listen to whatever Mrs. Brodeur told them than what their own parents had said. She was a strict woman who stood firm, was not afraid to tell the children off when they had done something stupid, and smoked a bit too often. She also swore. Which made her scary, but also very cool.

Mr. Brodeur was a very kind man. All of the kids in the neighbourhood loved him. He knew all of them by name, incredibly quickly, he would remember all of their interests, and he would join them in their games, some times. Plus, he would bring home sweets, fairly often.

Marianne liked the whole Brodeur family. 

Esmée was fun. She was loud and exciting and very persuasive. She liked to invite everyone into her games and she would always share the snacks that she brought out. She never teased anyone, aside from minor jabs at her younger sister, and she was normally the one who broke up fights. She was the oldest of all the kids, which automatically made her the coolest. Her hair was long and flowed in soft waves. Her nose was always covered in freckles during the summer.

Héloïse was quiet and fascinating and Marianne really, really,  _ really  _ liked her eyes. Héloïse liked what she liked and she didn’t care for anything else. She wasn’t interested in playing with the other kids, most days. She liked to draw and read her books or sometimes she would sit on the front lawn, in a little fenced off area, with a bunny in her lap. She would stroke its head and watch as the other kids played. The rabbit was white with a few black spots across its body and floppy black ears. One day, Héloïse told Marianne that his name was George. Marianne really wanted to pet George, some day.

Mr. Brodeur was the tallest man that Marianne had ever met. She thought that her own papa was tall, but not like Mr. Brodeur. He was extremely tall and had short, brown hair. He always had stubble, never a beard like her own papa. He had the same eyes as Héloïse, but Marianne didn’t love them as much, when they were his. He would tease her and pretend he forgot her name, calling her Marie. Mr. Brodeur only ever pretended to remember again when Marianne would fold her arms over her chest and let out a large huff. 

Mrs. Brodeur was much shorter than Mr. Brodeur. She had tight, curly hair and always had on makeup, even at six in the morning. She was stern, but she never yelled. She often wore dresses, they were long and flowed beautifully and made Marianne wonder why her own maman didn’t wear more dresses. She would sit on her front porch and smoke while she watched the children play and she typically focused her gaze on Esmée, rather than Héloïse. Marianne didn’t know if it was because Héloïse never left her spot and didn’t need to be watched or not.

But Marianne was sure that she was kind. She must be, Marianne figured, since everyone else in the family was. It made Marianne wonder if people thought someone in her family was mean and then she wondered if she agreed with them.

* * *

Marianne liked going to the Brodeur’s house for dinner. It was fun and Mr. Brodeur told exciting stories about places he would travel and everyone got to talk as much as they wanted. Mrs. Brodeur cooked the best food that Marianne had ever tasted, too, and she always refilled Marianne’s plate after she was finished.

Dinner at the Brodeur’s house was one of the only times that Marianne would get to see Héloïse smile. Her papa would make lots and lots of jokes until Héloïse couldn’t hold it back any longer. It would start with a grin, that she would try to cover by shoving food into her mouth. But the jokes continued, and once Héloïse had swallowed her food, she wouldn’t be able to help herself and her laughter would ring through the dining room. Some days, Héloïse wouldn’t even be able to swallow before she started laughing. Esmée and Marianne would laugh hysterically as some of her food left her mouth, Mr. Brodeur would smile proudly, and Mrs. Brodeur would tell them to settle down before Héloïse chokes and dies.

But when everyone was inside of the Brodeur household, Mrs. Brodeur always had a smile on her face. It was a smile that slowly became a pivotal aspect of Marianne’s childhood.

“Can Marianne sleep over, tonight?” Esmée asked, as a moment of quiet was finally beginning to break through the noisy atmosphere.

Marianne’s eyes shot to Esmée, and then immediately over to Héloïse. The two youngest girls had hope in their eyes before their eyes darted towards Mrs. Brodeur. Everyone already knew that Mr. Brodeur would say yes.

Expectant little eyes watched Mrs. Brodeur as she reached across the table to pick up Marianne’s plate and began to refill it. Their bodies shook with excitement, almost bouncing in their seats as Mrs. Brodeur looked to Mr. Brodeur with a raised eyebrow. Mr. Brodeur’s face was overtaken by it’s usual adoring smile. Mrs. Brodeur sighed.

“Yes, she can,” Little shouts left the girls before they could listen to everything that was being said. They were thrilled and already mentally preparing a list of things they could do that night. Different games they would play, how late they would try to stay up, and who’s room they would sleep in. “But! But!” Mrs. Brodeur continued, cutting off their ideas and their grins. “You’ll have to go to bed on time, and everything needs to be cleaned after she leaves tomorrow. If you can do that, she can stay over.”

All the girls nodded eagerly and began shovelling their dinners down their throats, wanting to be able to play as soon as they could. Mr. and Mrs. Brodeur exchanged an affectionate smile, as if all of these girls were their own daughters whom they adored. Most days, it felt like it. 

They played pretend for a little while, after dinner. They pretended to be witches and cast spells and even got Mr. Brodeur to play along with them, for a bit. Héloïse showed Marianne her newest colouring book; it had pages upon pages of different animals ready to be coloured in and Héloïse proudly showed Marianne the ones that she had finished. Marianne thought they were beautiful. Esmée picked the movie that they watched, afterwards, one with ballerinas and dancing and beautifully soft songs that made all of the girls drowsy. 

Mr. Brodeur carried both Marianne and Héloïse down the hall from the living room and up the stairs. Esmée slowly trailed behind him, but turned at her own bedroom. Marianne was okay with spending the rest of the night with just Héloïse.

Héloïse’s walls were an off-white colour and her bed was covered by a sheer, pink canopy. It was bigger than Marianne’s bed, she was sure of it, and the sheets looked fluffy and cozy. There was a fuzzy rug in the middle of the room and decorations all throughout. Photos on the walls, some of various members of the Brodeur family and some of cartoon characters and picture book characters that Héloïse loved. There was a purple letter “H” that hung above her door. On one side of the room, there was a tall bookshelf that had more books than Marianne had ever seen in her entire life and on the other side of the room was a organizer full of toys. Closet doors were pulled shut, but there was a tiny pair of socks that sat just outside.

Mr. Brodeur gently placed Héloïse into the bed before he tilted his body and leaned down to place Marianne down, as well. Héloïse’s hair was ruffled and all over the place and she rubbed her eyes as she pushed herself to sit up. Marianne did the same. The little girls watched Mr. Brodeur open the closet doors and pull open the drawers of the dresser inside. He glanced back at the girls and then to the drawer and after another minute he came back carrying two sets of pyjamas; one pair was red with a large blue heart across the chest and polka dots on the sleeves and pants, while the other was blue with a puppy dog on the chest and paw prints on the sleeves and pants.

Mr. Brodeur offered to help the girls, but Marianne said she could get changed on her own and only after hearing Marianne’s response did Héloïse nod her head furiously and say she could do so, too. They all giggled when Héloïse got caught in her shirt and needed her papa’s help. After the girls were in pyjamas and slightly too lazy to brush their own teeth, Mr. Brodeur was preparing to say goodnight. He had just finished dramatically pulling Héloïse’s socks off of her feet and pretending that they were outrageously stinky, which made the girls roll with laughter. When Héloïse’s socks were off of her feet, Marianne found her words. 

“Can I have new socks to sleep in?” Her voice was littler than normal, almost hesitant and scared of receiving a “no.”

Mr. Brodeur’s face flashed a hint of confusion before he looked down to the girl’s feet and noticed the few holes in her socks and the patches that were soon to become holes. He looked back to the girl and smiled his classic, kind smile: the type of smile that made everything seem okay, even if things weren’t. He went back to the closet and pulled out an almost brand new looking pair of socks that were an array of tie-dye colours and even had sparkles on them and he helped Marianne pull them onto her feet.

“You can even take those home, if you’d like.” Mr. Brodeur said. “I’m sure Héloïse wouldn’t mind.” And Héloïse shook her head.

Marianne glanced down at her feet and the pretty new socks that were on them and then back up to Mr. Brodeur with a toothy and joyful grin that only a child could produce. A grin that was so thankful and excited and didn’t understand the cruelties of the world. 

Mr. Brodeur kissed both the girls on their foreheads after he tucked them into bed. “Two little bugs, snug in a rug.” He said, as he watched them from the doorway. He wished them a goodnight, said he would see them in the morning, and turned out the lights while he shut the door.

Héloïse seemed ready to fall asleep, but Marianne didn’t feel ready. Her day had been full and exciting and she had an endless pile of thoughts racing through her mind. She tilted her body so that she was laying on her side and facing Héloïse.

“Héloïse?” She whispered, her voice floating into the room ever so tenderly. 

Héloïse let out a small huff and turned onto her side to face Marianne. Her furrowed brow and frown made Marianne smile. Héloïse’s maman always teased that Héloïse’s face would freeze that way, if she was always so grumpy. Sometimes, Héloïse’s papa would feign shock and say that it finally froze. It made all the other kids giggle and most days it ruined Héloïse’s stubborn frown. If Marianne didn’t love Héloïse’s smile so much, she would be okay with Héloïse’s face freezing like that. She loved Héloïse’s frown, too. Every expression was wonderful when it was on Héloïse.

“Don’t sleep, yet.” Marianne said. It was less of a request and more of a tentative demand. Ready for Héloïse to say no, but hoping that she would give in and talk to her for longer. No time was enough, she always wanted more. She was greedy for every second she spent with the Brodeurs. 

“I’m tired,” Héloïse whispered. Her eyes fluttered open and shut and her mouth didn’t fully close after she finished speaking. Her words were breathy and spaced out. Her cheeks were rosy from the warmth of the blankets and her hair was scattered all across the pillow they shared. Marianne wanted to count her eyelashes and her freckles. She decided to save that for after Héloïse had gone to sleep and she was left awake and alone.

“Your maman and papa love each other a lot.” Marianne told her. She had observed this fairly early into meeting the Brodeur family, but it became especially noticeable after she started visiting for dinner. They were affectionate. And not just by means of sharing kisses in front of the children which would cue loud gagging noises and shrieks. It was in the way that they looked at one another, the type of shine in their eyes and the reassurance of seeing one another across the dinner table. Small touches when they would pass by one another or the insistence to help with whatever the other was doing. How Mr. Brodeur would come home with flowers on a Tuesday afternoon that had no special meaning besides being another day of seeing his wife. He would wrap her in his arms and sway their bodies like princes do with princesses in movies. 

“All mamans and papas love each other,” Héloïse commented. To her, that was the reality of mamans and papas, Marianne supposed. But it confused her nonetheless. Surprised her that Héloïse’s view of mamans and papas were all like that.

“My maman and papa don’t love each other like that.” She said, her voice growing even quieter in her whispers. Confusion and sorrow becoming one. 

“What do you mean?” The blonde was more awake, now. Her brow was now laced with wonder instead of annoyance. 

“Maman and papa aren’t happy like your maman and papa.” She told her. “And maman isn’t as nice.”

“My maman isn’t always nice, either.” Héloïse mumbled out.

“But she’s mostly nice.” And at that, Héloïse nodded. Neither girl spoke after, they let the silence fill the room and wash over their bodies. Marianne watched as Héloïse’s eyes lulled shut and her breathing fell to an unconscious and even rate. Marianne counted her eyelashes for as long as she could until the night dragged her little body to sleep.

* * *

It was three weeks before Marianne’s twelfth birthday when her father died.

He had a heart attack at work, they told her. Which she mostly understood, but not really. She understood that heart attacks were bad and that they killed people and that one killed her papa. But medically, she didn’t understand what happened. Or why it happened. But that, she figured, was more of an existential question.

She didn’t go to school that week. And she didn’t leave her room very often, either. She would leave to go to the bathroom or to go downstairs for meals (if there were any) and then she went back to her room. She would tuck herself into bed and pretend that nothing had happened until her thoughts became too much and she started to cry. 

Mrs. Brodeur came over two days after Marianne’s papa died. She must have noticed the lack of cooking and cleaning being done because after that visit, she would come over everyday. Sometimes, she visited more than once. She would bring meals over and bring the food up to Marianne’s bedroom, so that she wouldn’t have to leave if she didn’t want to. Sometimes Mrs. Brodeur would sit with her, in a comfortable silence, and sometimes she would just kiss her head and leave. Marianne saw Mrs. Brodeur more often than she saw her own maman.

It was the day before the funeral and Mrs. Brodeur was sitting in the lonely chair in Marianne’s bedroom. She had brought a book that day and she read aloud. Loud enough that Marianne could listen if she wanted or she could ignore it. She instead tried to find comfort in the familiar voice.

As Mrs. Brodeur finished the chapter she was reading, she lowered the book and looked to Marianne, who was still watching the wall, laying on her side and fiddling with her fingers. 

“Esmée and Héloïse miss you.” She told her. Marianne knew it wasn’t something said to make her feel guilty and she didn’t. She missed the Brodeur sisters, too. But she also knew that they didn’t know what Marianne was feeling. The thought of listening to their bickering or their giggles sat awkwardly in the pit of her stomach. She hated the idea of watching them exist almost unaffected when she felt her own world was crumbling into bits and pieces. 

Most days, Marianne felt like she was standing on a single tile in the centre of a plain white room. The floor begins to rumble and the walls begin to shake, she watches as pieces of the ceiling come tumbling down and the walls shatter while the floor falls apart until she is stuck in the centre, abandoned and fearful and completely unsure of what to do.

Mrs. Brodeur stood from her chair and tucked her book under her arm. She approached Marianne’s bed, leaned down and placed a firm kiss against her temple, and then turned to leave. But before she did, she looked back to Marianne and Marianne couldn’t make eye contact.

“You’re always welcome whenever you need, sweetheart.” And with that, Mrs. Brodeur was leaving.

It took a few minutes after she left for Marianne to fully process her words and the meanings. The idea that she had a second family across the road. She squeezed her eyes shut as she felt tears beginning to fall. She felt guilty for wishing that she could have just had her own family. 

She laid there and let her tears stream until she fell asleep.

* * *

They’re laying on couches in Héloïse’s living room and staring at the ceiling as music quietly plays in the background. Marianne quietly sang along as her hands rested across her stomach. She could only partially see Héloïse in her peripheral. 

Marianne was freshly fourteen and convinced she knew everything there was to know about the world. She was getting taller each day and she had an appetite that never ceased. She started becoming interested in makeup but didn’t have much of her own, but Esmée was more than willing to always share hers. Marianne liked painting and music and was very good at maths.

Héloïse was thirteen and beginning to angst (though everyone was convinced she had been angsty since birth). She was already tall and lanky and clumsy beyond belief. She wasn’t used to her own body quite yet and it showed. Her hair was longer than it had ever been, reaching the lower half of her back, and it was always a mess. Héloïse read a new book almost every single day and spoke so pretentiously about it. She was still quiet and didn’t have many (or any, really) friends besides her sister and Marianne, but that was okay. Esmée and Marianne were the only people she needed. And her parents, too.

They were left home alone, Esmée had said she was going to some sleepover, but Marianne was sure she was actually attending a party. Mr. and Mrs. Brodeur had gone to visit Mr. Brodeur’s brother and his wife. 

They had made brownies earlier in the evening and stuffed their faces until they almost felt sick. They giggled at the chocolate that lined each other's lips. They found entertainment in the form of a terrible film that was profane and ridiculous, the plotline was confusing and the actors were awful, but Marianne told Héloïse that one of the leads was cute. Héloïse shrugged in her usual way that meant she didn’t particularly agree but didn’t care enough to debate it.

As the girls tired themselves out, they ended up on the couches in a comfortable peace. Lulling music and Marianne’s quiet singing that Héloïse said she liked.

“Marianne?” Héloïse said, eventually breaking their long bout of silence.

“Yeah?” Marianne responded, though she didn’t move to look at Héloïse at all. She kept her gaze to the ceiling.

“Do you ever think…” Héloïse trailed off. It took her a few seconds before she continued. “Do you ever think about girls?” 

At that, Marianne shifted up onto her elbows so she could look at Héloïse. Héloïse didn’t move, though, she seemed to be staring right through the ceiling. Marianne watched her for a few moments, not sure what Héloïse meant and knowing even less how to respond to it. She wasn’t sure if Héloïse actually wanted to know what she thought or if she just wanted to be reassured. 

“I guess so. Sometimes.” Marianne mumbled. She watched Héloïse slowly nod in response, like she was critiquing every bit of Marianne’s response. Each inflection and the speed in which she answered. Like every detail mattered and needed to be remembered. 

“Okay.” She said. She stared at the ceiling for another few seconds before she turned to look at Marianne. She gave a little smile, trying to be reassuring. “Do you want to go to bed?” Marianne nodded.

They turned off the television and made sure everything was put away before going upstairs and to Héloïse’s bedroom. Héloïse pulled out pyjamas for Marianne to wear, as she always did, and threw them towards her face. Marianne laughed and yelled in protest. It only made Héloïse giggle.

The girls awkwardly turned away from each other and got changed. When Marianne finished she stared at her feet for a minute before she turned around, not wanting to glance at Héloïse before she was ready. But Héloïse was already facing her. They shared a brief smile before Marianne moved to turn off the light and Héloïse crawled into bed. Marianne followed after her, once she was finished. 

They were tucked into bed, snug like bugs in a rug (as Mr. Brodeur would always say) and they were turned and facing each other. They watched each other in silence until Marianne was brave enough to ask Héloïse a question.

“Is there a specific girl you think about?”

Héloïse’s eyes glanced everywhere except Marianne now. Her face quickly became flushed, giving away the answer to Marianne’s question. Héloïse buried the side of her head a little deeper into the pillow, so that only two thirds of her face was visible.

“No,” she told Marianne. It wasn’t true. They both knew it. 

“Okay.” Marianne leaned forward and kissed Héloïse’s cheek. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Marianne.” She was already beginning to get hazy and sleepy. “Love you.”

“I love you, too.”

* * *

Marianne’s mother sells her piano despite all of her tears and pleads and begging. It was the only thing in her own home that made her feel safe and comfortable and  _ loved _ . 

Her mother said they needed the money.

It didn’t make it easier.

Marianne isn’t sure who told Mr. Brodeur, she barely remembers telling Esmée and Héloïse. But after dinner, one evening, he pulled Marianne aside as the girls were heading upstairs to play terrible old board games and gossip.

“We heard about your piano,” he said. Marianne’s eyes immediately began to well up at the mention. “We wanted to tell you that you’re welcome to come over and use ours, any time you want to play. Except maybe three in the morning.” He told her, his signature teasing grin plastered across his face. 

“Really?” She asked, completely unsure of his honesty and a little nervous that he might just be joking. She had no reason to think so, though, Mr. Brodeur was nothing but kind and honest. 

“Yes, really. Now go catch up with the girls, Marie.” He teased.

Marianne laughed and gave him a punch in the arm and he pretended that it hurt. Before she turned to leave, though, she threw her arms around Mr. Brodeur and gave him the biggest hug she had given in years. She mumbled a ‘thank you’ into his chest and both parties ignored the little water marks left on his sweatshirt.

The Brodeur’s came to her piano recital, months later. Her mother didn’t.

* * *

She’s fifteen when she finds out that Esmée committed suicide.

It sounded like a sick joke, at first. Marianne knew Esmée, she loved Esmée. She had seen her the day it happened. They talked like nothing was different. Marianne told her about a boy she was dating and Esmée tried to convince her that some boys were assholes. She was right, Marianne agreed, but it was completely ordinary. 

Marianne didn’t spend the evening at the Brodeur’s, that day. She had gone to her boyfriend’s house after she spoke to Esmée and told the older girl that she would see her tomorrow. Esmée had agreed.

She agreed.

She  _ agreed _ .

It was her mother who told her. She had gone to school that day, but didn’t see Héloïse or Esmée. She assumed they must have been sick or that maybe they were visiting family. She didn’t think too much of it, just spent her spare time with her boyfriend and some other friends she didn’t know as well. Her boyfriend walked her home and kissed her on the doorstep and then she went inside.

Her mother was sitting in the kitchen and smoking a cigarette. It wasn’t the most uncommon thing, but it was apparent that something was unusual. When her mother noticed her, she motioned for her to sit. “Come, sit, we need to talk.” Marianne was immediately filled with nerves and was worried she did something that had made her mother beyond livid, though she had no idea what it could be.

Marianne only remembers her mother saying Esmée’s name.

Everything afterwards was a blur. There were storms and chaos and it didn’t make any sense. It was like a simulation, as if she lived in a computer and everything was beginning to glitch. Pieces of her life were breaking and flashing before her eyes and her memory was scattered and breaking. She remembered feeling like this when her father died. How pieces of the world were breaking and breaking and broken. She was sure it couldn’t be real, she didn’t want it to be real so it can’t be. She couldn’t bring herself to cry, because she didn’t think this was real.

Esmée was across the street, right now. She was certain. She was at home studying for her upcoming tests and trying to figure out what she could get started and finished before she was called to have dinner with the family. Maybe Héloïse was with her, maybe she was quizzing Esmée to see how much she could remember. Or maybe Esmée was helping Héloïse with some work she didn’t understand. Héloïse wasn’t good at physics and always needed extra help. Or maybe she was on the phone with a friend talking about some party they had gone to and some boy she had kissed or maybe she was practicing her makeup or maybe she was writing things down in her journal or maybe she was taking a nap. She could be playing piano, Marianne thought. Or watching a movie. There was so much that Esmée could be doing. Esmée had to be fine.

Quickly she started hyper-analyzing her previous interaction with Esmée. She was wondering why and how and when and what and  _ why _ ? Why? Her heart felt like it had been tossed out the window while speeding down the highway, she wanted to vomit and scream and cry and beg someone to tell her that they were  _ kidding _ . Esmée wouldn’t do that. She couldn’t. How could she? Why would she? Why didn’t she tell her? What was going on? She needed to lay down. 

She stood from her seat and it became immediately apparent just how dizzy she actually was. She had to hold onto her chair for a second before she could actually start moving through the house and up towards her bedroom.

She only started crying when she closed her door behind her. And the minute she started, she couldn’t stop. Her sobs were violent and they shook her body with the force of a hurricane. Her thoughts were irrational and obscure. They hopped around and didn’t stay anywhere long enough to let her process. All she could do was cry harder.

She kept crying, but she still didn’t believe it. She was still convinced that Esmée was across the street, perfectly fine.

Marianne never stopped being convinced that Esmée was off, somewhere, perfectly safe and content.

* * *

“Do you want to come over for dinner?” Héloïse asked her, her tone incredibly gentle. 

They had been seeing less and less of each other recently. Marianne was caught up in the world of dating and work and panic about her future. Héloïse was… Marianne wasn’t sure what Héloïse was caught up with, but Marianne tried to reassure herself by saying that she was busy, too.

“I told Daniel I would hang out with him and his friends tonight.”

Héloïse stared at her feet while Marianne responded, nodded when she finished, and quickly turned and left.

Marianne didn’t stop her.

* * *

It was intensely hot outside.

Marianne and Héloïse were laying by the pool in the Brodeur’s backyard. They were in their bathing suits, though neither had gone into the pool quite yet. They were tanning, in silence. Marianne was lost in her own thoughts, not quite able to focus on one thing for too long. Caught up somewhere between the future and the past. Héloïse was reading a book that she had tried to explain to Marianne, but the brunette could barely keep track of the plot.

It was a beautiful day. Chirping birds, hot sun beating down, clear blue sky. It was just before the point where the heat was unbearable, but the pool became more and more tempting by the second. 

It was only when Marianne stood up that Héloïse looked away from her book. She looked up to see Marianne’s eyes on her, a questioning look painting across her face.

“What?” Héloïse asked her.

“Your parents aren’t home, right?”

Héloïse stared at her, confused, for a few seconds before she responded. “No… why?”

Instead of responding, Marianne just reached behind her back and began to untie her bikini top. Héloïse watched her, eyes clearly showing off how puzzled she was, and it was only when Marianne fully removed the top that Héloïse’s eyes darted away. Marianne pulled down the bikini bottoms as she began to speak. “I hate tan lines.” She returned to the chair she had been laying in. 

Héloïse was back to staring at her book. She let out a strangled noise from her throat as she nodded, but didn’t say anything else. Marianne assumed it was just Héloïse being Héloïse. Awkward and uncomfortable with humanity. Strange girl, but Marianne adored her regardless.

* * *

“I think I’m pregnant.”

The words were hushed and awkward and mumbled so quickly that Marianne was sure Héloïse didn’t even hear her. Maybe she was asleep already, that’d be for the best.


End file.
